


and now what words do I have?

by MyCupOfTea



Series: a softer world [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Parental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-15 13:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyCupOfTea/pseuds/MyCupOfTea
Summary: 1217. I used to say I missed you after just one weekend, like a child learning to talk, who calls every cat a tiger. (And now what words do I have?)Distance sometimes becomes the third person in Jack and Bitty's relationship, but they make it work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of [A Softer World](http://www.asofterworld.com/) prompts, and since it's one of my favorite things to read, I decided to do some prompts from it in between bigger projects. 
> 
> I'm sure very little of the situations I've thrown Jack and Bitty into in this are realistic. I'm not sure, however, that I care. 
> 
> Chapter two will be posted in a week-ish.

Jack isn't used to having to keep in touch with people.

 Before Samwell, he didn't really keep up with any of his old teammates, except for Kent. And Kent lived with him part of every offseason, so that was easy.

Shitty makes it impossible to lose touch over the summer, with constant texts about the horrors of his dad's family and the odd complexity of his mother's, and after his sophomore year Lardo does the same thing. Jack and his mom spend a week in Boston sightseeing with around Shitty's hometown after freshman year, and Shitty spends two weeks in Montreal before junior year.

The point is - Jack has never made a conscious effort to keep up with anyone. He's never thought about reaching out first to someone who wouldn't talk to him otherwise, never had to think about initiating a conversation with someone a long ways away just because.

Jack is staring at Eric Bittle's contact on his phone, at his parents' kitchen table. He wants to check in, as a teammate, and he _needs_ to check in, as a captain.

The scrape of Bob pulling out a chair makes him jump.

"Sorry, sorry," Bob says, sitting down with a huff. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to text Bittle."

"Oh, is he not texting back?"

"I haven't texted him yet."

"Ah, that does make it hard for him to respond."

Jack glares at him, but then he sighs.

"I just want to make sure he's doing all right."

"He'll probably really appreciate it, coming from his captain."

"I'm not sure I would, if I were him," Jack says quietly, feeling small.

"Jack, I know you feel responsible -" At Jack's hard look, Bob puts his hands up in surrender. "- and I'm not saying you shouldn't, something bad happened on your call. But you apologized, and he forgave you. He let it go. Don't let it stop you anymore." Bob pauses. "Is he expected to make the beginning of the season?"

"He doesn't even get _evaluated_ until after the first few practices."

Bob winces sympathetically.

"Then he probably really would like to hear from you. Get reminded he's still a part of the team. That _you_ still see him as part of the team."

Jack knows his dad is right, but it still takes him until that night, tossing around trying to get comfortable in a bed he's not really used to, before he sends the text.

_Don't forget to rest up_.

He falls asleep immediately after.

The next morning, he has a _Thanks, Jack!_  waiting for him. It makes him frown, for some reason.

What is he supposed to say? "No problem"? "You're welcome"? Neither of those are going to scratch the anxious itch he has.

He mulls it over during breakfast, finally deciding on a quick "how are you".

It takes a few hours but this does get a better response.

_Better. Still have a headache if I don't take something for it and I'm really tired._

Jack frowns. None of that seems "better" to him.

_Are you having dizzy spells like before_

_Nope! Thank God. My mother would have had a fit. She's already hovering enough as it is_

Before Jack has to think of a response to _that_ , Bitty texts him back again.

_But enough about me! What's going in places that aren't rural Georgia?_

By the time August rolls around, Jack feels like he can handle the closeness of Bitty in the Haus. Sure, he wasn't prepared for all of the Beyonce, but who was, really?

 

* * *

 

Jack feels like a moron. Really, he couldn't have picked any better time? He had to wait until literally the last possible minute to tell Bitty?

Now that he's touched Bitty, kissed Bitty, confessed to Bitty, it's all he wants to do, and he can't, because he's in a car on his way to Providence and Bitty is on a shuttle to the airport and _Jack is a moron_.

But. Not that much of an idiot. Because he did tell Bitty he would text him, and he does. Frequently. And calls him. And skypes him. As much as he can, because it's all he wants to do.

Despite the distance, Jack gets closer to Bitty that summer than he thinks he's ever been with someone. He tells Bitty things about himself that he's never told another person - how alone he was at Samwell before Shitty and him got close, how scared he is about going into the NHL, and how genuinely excited he is about being on the Falcs.

But. . . Jack doesn't _miss_ Bitty until after Bitty stays in Providence. Because, really, over the summer he's had more contact with Bitty than ever before. It takes Bitty in his space, in his bed, in his kitchen, and then _not_ , that Jack learns what missing him is like.

It's an ache in chest, sometimes sharp, most of the time dull, but always present. He can forget about it, fully immerse himself so that he doesn't even realize it's there, but it is, until Bitty is in his arms again.

They don't part without knowing when they'll see each other again, so Jack always has that to look forward to, but. But.

He knows at least part of it is that Bitty has other things to do, now. Not that he didn't have other commitments in Georgia, but nothing that compared to having a collegiate athlete's schedule. So the texting is a little more disjointed, the calls are a little shorter and a lot sleepier, and daily skype calls start getting a little too unlikely, especially once Jack hits preseason.

So yeah. Jack misses him.

It's been two weeks since they've seen each other in person, and it's Samwell's first home game. Jack barely makes it in time to meet Shitty outside the entrance, and is practically hopping in his chair waiting for the team to take the ice. Shitty laughs and throws an arm around his shoulders.

"It's been too long," Shitty says, and bounces his leg along with Jack.

They both lose their minds when Samwell takes the ice, and Shitty loses his chill right along with Jack anytime Bitty does _anything_ , so Jack thinks he does okay at acting normal and not like _he's watching his boyfriend play hockey for the first time_. And he is, he realizes. He's never gotten to watch Bitty play a game he wasn't also playing.

It makes not tackling Bitty in the locker room really, really hard.

But it's okay, because afterwards he _does_ get to kiss Bitty up against the door of his room, and he _does_ get to tell Bitty how great he was, and really, what else does he need?

It's not the first time Jack has visited the Haus since they started dating, so Jack is used to approximately how long they can get away with trading soft kisses on Bitty's bed before someone decides Bitty's hogged Jack enough.

It's not long at all. Jack gets in the car, and the hot shame of having to reject the notion of being in a relationship right in front of Bitty settle in his chest, right next to the ache of missing him.

 

* * *

 

They get better at missing each other. They turn it into a skill, honing the perfect timing to send texts and make calls, figuring out how to make an afternoon together be enough for two weeks.

It's not ideal, but it's their reality. They've gotten good at dealing with it. And it's an afternoon two months before Bitty graduates that Jack needs to get something off his chest.

Bitty's leaning over the fridge, scouring for a box of strawberries he swore he left in there, when Jack finally gets out a quick, "hey, Bits?".

Bitty hums and says, "yeah, honey?" while continuing to shuffle stuff around in the fridge. Jack swallows hard.

"Do you ever worry about moving in together?"

Bitty stands up straight and closes the fridge door, a wrinkle in his brow.

"I mean, yeah, because I've never lived with a boyfriend. But I'm not worried about living with _you_ , exactly. Is that what you mean?"

"Not. . . exactly. I don't know. It's hard to explain."

Bitty cocks his head.

"Can you try? I want to help, if I can."

"It's just. . . the last time we lived together, long term, we were friends. I'm not - it's just going to be different. And I'm kind of - worried - but not _worried_ worried - that it's going to be -"

"Different in a bad way?"

"Kind of. It's just - our relationship is defined - we're away from each other so much right now. It's going to be - an adjustment."

"And you're scared we're not going to make it?" Bitty asks.

Jack gives a helpless shrug.

"Oh, sweetpea. We've made everything up until now work for us. And it hasn't been easy. But we've made it ours. We made early mornings in Faber ours. Our world was playing on the ice together. And our world was going to class together. And hanging out in the Haus kitchen. And then you graduated and we got a new world together. Me being at Samwell still, and you here in Providence. And now our world is skype calls and morning selfies and sneaking away from other things to get an hour together. We're going to move in together, and we'll make that our new world."

The whole time he's been talking, Bitty has been walking closer to Jack, and Jack has been edging closer to him, drawn like a moth to a flame. Finally Bitty stands in front of Jack, and he reaches up to cup Jack's face in both his hands, pulls him down so he can kiss Jack sweetly on the cheek and then meeting his eyes.

Holding Jack close, he says "I cannot wait for all the worlds I'm going to build with you, Jack Zimmermann".

Jack melts into Bitty, burying his face in Bitty's shoulder, breathing him in. After his chest loosens from the tightness it's had since before he walked into the kitchen, he speaks into Bitty's shoulder.

"I ate the strawberries yesterday."

Bitty laughs, sweet and clear, and starts to pull away.

"I knew it, you asshole!" Bitty says through a laugh, but he goes easily when Jack pulls him to kiss him once, twice, their smiles pressed together.

 

* * *

 

Bitty is right, ultimately. It's not a seamless transition, Bitty moving in, but it's more good than bad.

It doesn't help that it's difficult for Bitty to find a job at first, and they learn together that a Bitty without something concrete to do is a deeply unhappy Bitty.  But Bitty eventually gets hired at a public relations company doing social media grunt work. It's nobody's dream job, but it's a foot in the door.

Jack is still on the road a decent chunk of the year, and Bitty works ridiculous hours, but Jack loves it when he gets to be home when Bitty gets home, loves the time between dinner and bed when they sit on the couch, Bitty ranting about work and Jack massaging his feet, loves Bitty picking him up at the airport, wrapping him in a hug. It makes the airport phone calls, the texted "I miss you"s, the never long enough skype calls easier than they've ever been.

Coming out of the Falconers first Stanley Cup win, Jack has a no trade clause, Bitty's vlog viewership is growing exponentially, and. . . life is great, honestly.

And then the wrench gets thrown in.

It's the middle of June, and Jack buys a ring.

He doesn't _mean_ to buy a ring. He went in with Snowy, of all people. Snowy, whose car is in the shop and asked for a ride home from locker clean out, who remembered last minute that he needed to pick up a necklace he ordered for his wife's birthday, and Jack is loitering and trying to act like jewelry stores don't make him nervous when he sees it.

It's several strands of gold woven together, framed on either side by a simple edge, burnished. It's got a style about it, isn't delicate but isn't bulky, and Jack - doesn't think words. He thinks a picture of Bitty with this ring on his finger.

It's explicitly a wedding ring. The little card says _wedding ring_. The man looks at Jack funny when he originally only tries to buy one.

"Can I - can I buy one and put the other on hold?"

He doesn't know - Bitty may want them to match. He might want to pick one out for Jack, like Jack got to pick out this one. He buys the one in Bitty's size on the spot, and puts a small deposit on one in his size.

Snowy stares, mouth slightly agape, as Jack buys wedding rings.

It's the first time Jack has really, really thought: I'm going to marry Eric Bittle.

He's known that he _wants_ to, of course. He also knows Eric Bittle wants to marry him. But - this is the closest he's ever come to actually setting that in motion.

But that's not the wrench.

The wrench is: Bitty moves to France.

 

* * *

 

Jack is having deja vu. The worst kind. Because he is a moron. A moron that hasn't learned anything in three years, apparently, about realizing what's right in front of him until the last possible moment.

"Jack," Bitty says, hands folded in his lap and sitting on the couch. "I need to tell you something. It's not a bad something, but it's a big something."

Jack freezes with his keys suspended over the tacky glass bowl they use as a catch all. He puts them down, pointedly, in the bowl, and very slowly makes his way to sit down next to Bitty.

He tries to exude a calm demeanor, but inside he's panicking, thinking about the ring he has tucked into what would otherwise be an unusable portion of the console of his car. He can't - Bitty can't _know_ , right? For all that he can be perceptive, Jack literally bought it less than an hour ago. It probably hasn't even posted as a charge to his bank yet.

"So. . . you know how I was sending those cold resumes? Seeing if I could maybe get a better job after Jonah told me he would be a reference for me?"

"Yes," Jack says hesitantly.

"Well," Bitty says, wringing his hands together. "I didn't hear anything. From those. But. Um. I did hear from. . . from YouTube."

"From YouTube?" Jack gets out slowly. "Is there - something wrong with your channel?"

"No. No, not like that. They're, um. They're doing - they're making a new series. For YouTube Red? Kind of like the Food Channel. And - and they reached out to me. They want me to - Jack, they want me to help produce it. And do some of the segments."

"Bits!" Jack says, jubilant reaching out and grabbing Bitty's hands. "That's amazing. That's fantastic."

"It - It is. Um."

"Is there something wrong?" Jack says, hesitantly. Bitty seems oddly. . . not as excited as Jack would have thought he would be.

"No - well. It's going to start out for a year."

"Okay."

"It's also in France."

"Oh," Jack says, eyes widening. "Oh."

"Yeah," Bitty huffs out. "So. . ."

"So you're going to be in France for a year."

"Over that. At least. If I go."

"If you - Bitty, you have to go. I mean, I guess you don't have to but - this is an amazing opportunity." Jack is pretty sure his nice happy world of five minutes ago where he was going to propose to his boyfriend on his upcoming cup day is crashing around his ears, but he's not that much of an idiot. This is potentially a once in a lifetime opportunity.

"I know. I know that. I just - it seems like a long time to be gone. We've barely been living together a year. And then for me to spend a year away. . ." Bitty gnaws on his lip once he falls silent.

Jack thinks about how Bitty is just barely 23, as of last month, of how young that feels looking back at himself, and picks his next words very carefully.

"I think - We can talk this over as much as you want, as long as you want. But. I think you're going to regret and resent not taking this. Your channel - you've been working towards something like this for years. Since before you went to college, even. This is - this is a _culmination_ of that."

"I know," Bitty whispers, wide eyed. "Jack. Jack. This is happening."

Jack lets the joy and the pride he feels for Bitty bubble over and temporarily wash away the thoughts of the ring sitting in the car. He laughs, grabbing Bitty off the couch and swinging him in a circle.

They'll be okay. They'll be better than okay.

 

* * *

 

They do go into - not crisis mode, but something similar. Bitty needs to be settled in Paris by the end of July to start production in August, so he gives his two weeks notice when he goes into work the next day. Jack buys them plane tickets.

"You're - you're coming with me?"

"Yeah. Unless you don't want me to?" Jack asks, suddenly unsure of himself.

"I want you there. I absolutely want you there."

"I figured - I could stay, we could look for a place for you? And help you get settled before you start working. Before I have to be back for camp." Jack smirks. "And work on your French."

"Oh God," Bitty says, throwing himself dramatically across Jack's lap on the couch. "Don't remind me. God, you said they're going to make fun of _your_ accent, and French is literally your first language. They're going to _eviscerate_ me."

Jack, noticeably, keeps the ring in his car. He hides it a little better after that first day, but it stays in the car. Bitty never drives Jack's car, and at the moment he's been turning the apartment upside down trying to figure out how to pack, so it's safer there.

Jack can't - he can't ask Bitty to marry him before he leaves. He can't. It's not fair to Bitty, when he's already had to deal with the huge change in his life, positive though it may be, to ask him to make a decision like that.

So he bites his tongue.

His cup day turns into a cup day/farewell party, which Bitty frets over.

"I'm stealing your thunder," he says. Jack snorts.

"Bitty. I already won the cup. We did plenty of celebrating that in June. Let us celebrate you. I wouldn't want it any other way."

Three weeks after Jack buys a ring, Jack and Bitty are settled into a what would be considered a shoebox in Providence, but is actually a decent sized place for Paris.

The kitchen is good, "perfect" according to Bitty, and that's what matters the most. Jack has a month before he has to go back to Providence; he spends it jogging a new path every day, sometimes with Bitty, sometimes without, working out during the day while Bitty is writing and planning with the team, and they spend the evenings exploring and doing nothing in equal measure. Jack meets Bitty's coworkers, meets the fellow vloggers and a few of the older production staff, and watches Bitty thrive in the community.

They make love, and they fuck, and they kiss and they touch. It already feels like a honeymoon, and when they go to the Eifel Tower Jack thinks: this would have been a great place to propose. A little cliche, a little _typical_ , but it's all moot, because Jack left the ring back in the States.

And he had meant it when he said he was going to wait.

July turns into August, and their not-a-honeymoon has to end. Jack needs to be in Providence, and Bitty starts filming at the end of the month.

So Jack orders a ride to airport and spends long minutes saying goodbye to Bitty on the curb.

They need to let go, but Jack keeps thinking about how he has no idea when he'll see Bitty next and wraps his arms a little tighter. Bitty's obviously going through something similar if the way that his fingers keep tightening and loosening in Jack's shirt is any indication.

The car is honking and Jack knows he's going to be okay, really, he does, but - the thought of letting go makes his eyes prickle dangerously.

"Okay," Bitty says, letting go and shoving Jack's chest lightly. "You need to go, now, or I'm not letting you go."

"Right," Jack says, loosening his hold. "Okay." He kisses Bitty once, twice, feeling a weird desperation. "I love you."

"I love you too," Bitty says, breathlessly, and fuck, Jack is going to miss him so much.

"I'll call you when I get through security?" Jack says, half in the car.

"Yes. I'll talk to you soon. Have a good flight!"

Jack closes the door and - well, that's that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're worried about the tags, go ahead and read the end notes! And know that I like my angst resolved with fluff, and it's a happy ending fic.

It's August.

"Hey man," Shitty says when he picks Jack up at the airport. "Is it cool if I crash with you for a few days? I could use a break from Boston."

Jack looks at him suspiciously while he gets his seat belt fastened.

"Did Bitty put you up to that?"

"He absolutely did."

"Then yeah, that would be great actually."

 

* * *

 

It's September.

"I think it's the cup," Jack whispers, almost afraid to put the thought into the universe, but it's two in the morning. Two in the morning, and he knows he's not going to sleep until he talks it through, and he needs to sleep. "I think that's why camp feels so wrong. I think it's because we won the cup."

Across an ocean, Bitty frowns, a heavy crease between his eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" Bitty asks, concerned, setting down the banana he had been about to peel. It's eight in the morning in Paris. "Is no one taking it seriously?"

"No, everyone else is fine. It's me. Or well. I just feel - I'm not falling into rhythm like I should be." Jack sighs. "I keep - I'm worrying about little things. That I wasn't this time last year. And I think it's because - because we won. Now nothing feels right."

Bitty bites his bottom lip before releasing it.

"So you're worried about not living up to last year?"

". . . Yeah. And I'm worried that the team won't - that the team won't either." Jack runs his fingers through his hair, agitated. "That doesn't make any sense, right?"

Bitty is shaking his head.

"It makes perfect sense, sweetpea. I just don't know what to say that can make it better." Bitty sighs. "Except that - even if you don't score as many goals, or get as many points, or win as many games - Jack, you've already proven you're a great player. There's nothing you can do this season that makes you a bad player. Or a bad person. You're the same person this year as you were last year."

Jack closes his eyes.

"You always make it better," he whispers.

 

* * *

 

It's October.

"Bitty -" Jack pants, listening as Bitty talks him through stroking himself. Bitty already came, and Jack keeps turning his head to stare at Bitty's flush and bright eyes on the tablet screen. He readjusts himself on the bed to be able to see the screen better, and manages to jostle the mattress enough that the tablet falls over, leaving Bitty staring up at the ceiling. "Shit, fuck, hold on."

Jack gets the iPad upright again, Bitty smirking at him through the screen. Jack rolls his eyes.

"All right there?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jack grumbles, putting his hand on his dick again. "Laugh all you want."

 

* * *

 

It's November.

Jack bites his lip, drumming his fingers on his laptop idly. He looks at his schedule, and then back at the plane tickets. He sighs, and reaches for his phone.

"Jack," Bitty says, and Jack can picture his smile in his mind. "What are you up to?"

"Do you happen to know what days your parents have off for their winter break?"

"Are you doing something drastic?"

"Um. Maybe."

Bitty sighs.

"I'll email you the calendar."

 

* * *

 

"Jack! How are you, honey?" Suzanne says. Jack feels a slight stab of guilt that he hasn't called in so long.

"I'm pretty good. Um, did you get a letter from me? In the mail?"

"We did, just got it today. What about it?"

"I know - it's really a Christmas present, but um. Could you and Coach open it when you both get the chance? It's kind of a time sensitive present."

 

* * *

 

It's December.

Jack grins as he flips his phone around to show his mom the picture Suzanne had sent him of Bitty with his parents at the Eifel Tower, captioned "thank you for the tickets!". He yanks it back when the phone starts ringing though, prompting Alicia to roll her eyes. Jack rolls his eyes back and answers the phone, walking out to the hallway so he'll have an illusion of privacy.

"Hi Bits," he says, chest feeling warm.

"Hi honey," Bitty says, slow, vowels long, the way it is when he's dozing off. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas. You going to bed soon? You sound tired."

Bitty chuckles.

"I'm already in bed, sweetpea. Mama had us up at six. How was your day?"

"Not nearly as exciting as yours, by the sound of it." Jack's cheeks hurt. It takes him a second to realize it's because he's smiling so wide. "And it's better now that I've heard your voice."

"Well, aren't you a sweet talker. And a sweetheart. Thank you for getting my parents plane tickets. I assume that's why you wanted their winter break schedules?"

"I knew you missed them."

"I did. I miss _you_ , too."

"I miss you too. I'm sorry I couldn't -"

"None of that, Jack. We've known you probably wouldn't be able to get here for Christmas since July."

"I know. I just - wish I could be there."

"Me too."

The silence and the miles hang between them.

Finally, Bitty breaks the silence, as he usually does.

"Lord, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to get so dour. We'll be fine. We're doing fine. I miss you a whole bunch but we wouldn't be seeing much of each other this time of year anyway."

Jack takes a deep breath and lets it out slow.

"You're right. It's hard, but we'll be fine. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Tell your parents merry Christmas from me."

"I will. Love you."

"Love you too, baby."

His parents must sense his bad mood.

"How's it going?" Bob says, passing him a slice of pie. A slice of pie that's notably Bitty's recipe, but not made by Bitty. Jack sighs and takes a bite.

"It's hard. I miss him."

"We know," Alicia says, patting his shoulder. "But it's not forever."

"But I don't know how long it's for, either."

She strokes his hair and he leans into it.

"I know. But not forever."

 

* * *

 

It's January.

"Jack!" Bitty says, obviously delighted. "Congrats, honey, I just saw. You deserve it."

"Thanks," Jack says, trying to sound happy.

"What's wrong?"

"I just -" To his mortification, Jack feels tears come to his eyes. He's been up for way too many hours. He called Bitty when he knew he would be taking his lunch break, which was six in the morning in Providence. Jack hadn't slept that night at all, spending the night tossing and turning, trying to get away from the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I was really hoping I was going to get to come see you over the break," he whispers.

"Oh, Jack," Bitty sighs. "I know you were. I was hoping, too. But the All Star Game is a big deal. You've been working your ass off. Let people tell you how great you are for a weekend."

"I would rather _you_ just tell me how great I am for a weekend," Jack grumbles. Bitty laughs, and Jack already feels a little bit better.

"Oh, don't I know it, baby."

 

* * *

 

It's February.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Bits. It was ten stitches. That's nothing." Jack frowns. "I'm way more worried about you."

Bitty opens his mouth to retort but coughs instead, loud, long, body racking coughs. The ever present ache in Jack's chest grows stronger in sympathy. Even through the shitty skype connection, Jack can see that Bitty is pale, wrapped in too many blankets and still shivering.

"I'm fine," he croaks.

"What are you going to do if you aren't?"

"I'll to have to go to the doctor. But I won't need to because I'm going to be _fine_."

"I need to be there to take care of you."

"Jack, I would _love_ you to be here. But I _can_ take care of myself, you know." Bitty has a heavy frown on. Coupled with his paleness and obvious general discomfort, it makes Jack sigh.

"Just - promise me you won't go alone to the doctor? If you need to go?"

"I'm not going to need to go." Jack gives him an unimpressed look. "All right, if I don't feel better by Friday I'll go. And I'll take Jen. Her French is better anyway."

Jack blows him a kiss, just because he knows it'll make Bitty scrunch his nose and giggle like it always does, although this time he ends up apologizing when Bitty ends up coughing up what sounds like half his lung.

 

* * *

 

It's March.

Sometimes, Jack will get home from a road trip late enough that he gets Bitty's morning selfie before he goes to bed.

Sometimes, if Jack's really lucky, Bitty will still be in bed in his selfie, hair disastrous and chest bare, and Jack has no qualms about sending a selfie back, in a rumpled suit, tie undone, sprawled across their bed.

There's something uniquely sexy about trading pictures with Bitty likes this. Sometimes having sex over the phone or on skype can be hard for Jack because he has to think about words, which can make him nervous with Bitty right there for him to read, but he thinks nothing of taking a picture of where he's pulled his dick out of his suit pants, the only part of him exposed.

Bitty sends him a picture of the opposite, of himself completely naked, dick in hand.

Ten minutes later, Jack is barely able to type a reminder into his phone to get his suit dry cleaned before he falls into a deep, hard sleep.

 

* * *

 

It's April.

PR suggested Jack get a Twitter account the fall of Bitty's senior year, a little under a year before he came out publically. They said it would help him build a good social media image, which would make coming out easier.

Jack doesn't know if it's done him any good in that regards, but it's definitely helped him feel closer to Bitty while Bitty's gone. He checks Bitty's Twitter and Instagram every day before he goes to bed, and it makes it feel like he's a little more in tune with what's going on in Bitty's life, especially if he hasn't talked to Bitty that day.

Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease  
Definitely just insulted this poor waiter's family if his face is any indication. I just tried to order soup. Probably should have tried English first.  
4/5/17 12:37 PM

Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease  
He just spoke flawless English with Nadeen. I feel like a fool.  
4/5/17 12:39 PM

Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease  
Y'all, my French? Is bad. But it's nothing compared to my Italian. #guesswhereiam   
4/5/17 12:43 PM

Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease  
Let's just say next episode is going to be INTERESTING.  
4/5/17 12:45 PM

Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease  
Love that the Falconers have an afternoon game tomorrow! I'll get to watch live for once. #goFalcs  
4/8/17 9:31 PM

Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease  
in reply to @omgcheckplease Even though I know SOMEONE (@jlzimmermann1) HATES afternoon games #goFalcs #monsieurgrumpy  
4/8/17 9:31 PM

That's what he was originally going to do when he got on Twitter that night, but now it's edging towards what Bitty likes to call "dangerous infomercial hour" and he's started from the bottom of Bitty's Twitter and gone up.

It's a mixed bag of emotions. Some of the tweets make him smile, because Bitty is so _Bitty_ , even then. But then some of the tweets make him frown, because they're usually about how Bitty is either feeling lonely or sad, and half the times it's Jack's fault.

Still, some of the tweets are nostalgic in a good way, regaling Jack with some of the stories he had forgotten about from Samwell. He screenshots the best ones and send them to Bitty, to see when he wakes up.

But the hardest ones to read are from when their relationship was new. When Bitty was still at Samwell, and Jack was in Providence, and they were only forty minutes away most of the time, but it was still too far. Jack remembers when two weeks felt like too long without seeing Bitty.

How _stupid_ he was. Two weeks was _nothing_. The ache in his chest at two weeks away is nothing like two months. Or _ten_ months. They're incomparable. Jack would _kill_ to see Bitty in two weeks.

Jack falls asleep curled around his phone like the lifeline it's become.

 

* * *

 

It's May.

"Happy birthday, Bits."

"Oh baby, you look so tired. Why don't you go to sleep? We can talk tomorrow." Half of Jack wants to do what Bitty says, fall into the hotel mattress and sleep for the next few years, but the other half wants to fall into the softness of Bitty's face, the way his eyes seem huge in his face when he's worried about Jack, the fact that he's wearing Jack's red flannel.

"M'fine. Wanna talk to you. It's your birthday."

"I know you want to, honey, but maybe you should to go to bed instead."

"I'm _in_ bed."

"Smart ass. Is there anything you need to do before you sleep? Set an alarm or anything?"

Jack shakes his head.

"Nope. Just need to turn out the light."

"Why don't you do that, sweetpea, and then come lay with me."

Jack obeys automatically, then settles on his side facing the iPad, covers up to his ears.

"There you go, honey. I wish I was there."

"Me too," Jack murmurs, eyes closing against his will.

"If you guys make cup finals, I'm going to try to be there. I can't miss you winning a Stanley Cup."

Jack pries one eye open to smirk at him.

"Even if it's just another one? Not old hat yet?" he teases.

"Jack Zimmermann, you need to go to sleep. You're not making any sense whatsoever."

 

* * *

 

It's June.

They don't make finals. They don't even make conference finals.

After his usual self regulated wallowing time, Jack buys a plane ticket.

He's happily packing a bag when he gets a call.

"Hi Mom," he says cheerfully, expecting well wishes and instructions to text her when he lands. Instead, he listens, shell shocked, and ends the call with "I'll be there in three hours".

He hangs up and takes a deep breath, and makes the first of two phone calls.

"Jack, bro. It's like you read my mind, I was just about to ask you what time you wanted me to pick you up."

"Change of plans. I'm not going to Paris, but I'm flying out of Boston. Can I leave my car at your place for a while?"

"What - of course. You're freakin' me out a little though, what's going -"

"I'll be there in forty minutes. I'll tell you when I get there."

"Okay, what -"

Jack hangs up on him, and calls Bitty, while slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking out the door towards the elevator.

"Jack! I can't wait -"

"Bitty." Jack hears Bitty suck in a deep breath.

"What's wrong, Jack?"

"My dad - my dad had a heart attack. Is having a -" Jack chokes on his words and has to lean his forehead against the cool metal of the elevator doors.

"Jack. Jack, are you with me? You've got to breathe."

"I'm here."

"Good, that's good. So you're flying to Montreal, right?"

"Yeah. Shits is taking me to the airport."

"Good, that's good. Where are you now?"

"Hallway, by the elevator."

"Okay. Jack? I need you to tell me you're okay to drive to Boston." Bitty sounds slightly frantic, and weirdly, that calms Jack down. He takes a deep breath.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay to drive."

"Promise me, Jack. If you're not, call Tater -"

"He's in Russia for three weeks."

"George then. Or Thirdy. Promise that if you're not okay to drive, you'll call someone."

"I promise."

"Okay. I love you, Jack. Tell your parents hi from me, okay? Both of them. And call me and give me an update when you get the chance."

"I love you too. I will."

 

* * *

 

Jack meets his mom by the receptionist's desk at the hospital, and clings to her, feeling weirdly young again, but also older than ever.

"He's okay," Alicia says. "They did everything by catheter so - so that was easier on him. We should be able to see him soon."

"Okay," Jack whispers.

They do get to see Bob, eventually, and he's awake and joking like nothing happened, which is relieving and infuriating in equal measures. Out of all the ways that Jack and his dad are different, it's his dad's ability to make a joke out of even the most dire of situations that's maybe the most apparent.

After the doctor talks to them and assures them that Bob will make a full recovery, and Bob has fallen asleep, and Alicia is settling down in one of the chairs in the hospital room, Jack makes a run back to his parents' house.

The house feels so _wrong_ when he pulls up to it in his rental car. They obviously left in a hurry that morning, and the front door is unlocked. His dad's newspaper is still on the table and his mom's tablet is on the counter. The house phone is on the counter next to the keys, because they left as soon as the paramedics got there and it must have been chaos.

He pulls out his phone without even thinking of it, and he must have. . . about seventy messages. He stares, because he definitely hasn't told most of these people what's going on, so that means the media must have gotten a hold of it. Oh God.

He's suddenly desperate, and out of all the messages, only wants to talk to one person.

"Jack, what's going on?" Bitty's voice is harried, frantic, but it pulls up a bubble of calm inside Jack all the same.

"He's going to be fine. They were able to use a catheter, and they did a lot of things I don't totally understand with stents, but he's going to make a full recovery."

"Oh my God. Jack. That's - that's great." Jack can hear the relief in Bitty's voice and realizes it's nearing four in the morning there.

"Bits, you should get some rest."

Bitty lets out a sharp laugh.

"What I think I should do is get a plane ticket."

Jack frowns.

"A plane ticket. . . here?"

"Of course, Jack. Where else?"

"I don't think you need to do that, Bits."

"What do you mean? I was going to come back for the Stanley Cup if you guys had made it that far, and this is much more important, that's just a stupid game -"

"You were going to _try_ to get here, but that's before you found out about the bakery and Amsterdam -"

"That can _wait_ -"

"No, it can't! You were just telling me that they don't normally do tours and you guys were a special exception. That does _not_ sound like somewhere that's gonna reschedule just because -" Jack's not sure when he started raising his voice. Probably around the time Bitty started raising his. But the next time Bitty talks, it's deadly quiet.

"It's starting to sound an awful lot like you don't want me there, Jack."

Jack pinches his nose. He's tired and he's stressed and he can't stop staring at his dad's coffee mug.

"Bitty. Bits. You know that I want you here _almost_ more than I want anything else in the world." The mug has a clumsily painted _World's Best Dad!_ on it. Jack can't see it, but he knows that on the bottom of the mug it says, in his mom's much neater handwriting, _Father's Day 1996_ on it. "The only thing I want more than that is for you to be happy."

"Jack, I would be happier _there_ , of course I would be -"

"Bitty. No. You wouldn't be. You would not be happier here, sitting around a hospital, than you would be in Amsterdam touring a Danish patisserie. And _that's okay_. Look. You would never ask me to leave in the middle of Stanley Cup finals, right?"

"Of course not - that's - that's different -"

"It's not. This is your job. It's important to you. It's a dream come true. Bitty. Stay there. If anything changes - you can be on the next flight out."

"Okay," Bitty whispers. "God, I'm sorry. It's been a long day and I'm. . . I'm just sorry. About everything."

"I'm sorry too." Jack finally sits down at the table.

"Shit, I just can't believe it. Your dad is really young for a heart attack. And he's an athlete! It's. . . God, too scary to think about too hard."

"My grandfather died of a heart attack." Jack props his chin on his hand and sighs. "So there's genetics. And I guess it's not uncommon for athletes to have heart problems after they've stopped, you know, being as athletic. So I guess I better watch out when I retire, eh?"

"God, Jack, don't even joke."

"I'll joke as much as I want. My dad was cracking jokes the entire time I saw him. Like nothing had happened."

"Of course he was. Typical Bob." Bitty's voice is warm and fond. "I love your dad."

"He loves you, too. He said hi, by the way."

 

They chat idly about things that are not hospitals or planes or a sudden awareness of your parent's mortality until Bitty is yawning too hard to keep going.

After they hang up, Jack collects new clothes for him and his mom in an old duffel bag. After a moment of consideration, he grabs clothes for his dad, too. It made Jack feel better putting on his own clothes in the hospital, and besides, his dad should hopefully go home the next day. It can't hurt.

Jack is walking out of the house, bag slung over his shoulder, when he pauses. He turns around, puts down the bag, and carefully washes the coffee mug.

 

* * *

 

It's July.

"And how's your dad doing? Has your mom throttled him yet?" Bitty is in his nice work clothes, hair carefully done, peeling potatoes for a vlog he's filming. The angle of the tablet shows the muscles moving underneath his rolled sleeves, his hair is sweeping delicately across his forehead, and Jack is so in love he feels like he could swim the Atlantic just to get to him.

"Not yet. Although I'm about to take him for a walk."

"I'm not a dog," Bob grumbles, walking into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Jack pauses in the washing of his own vegetables to crane his head over his shoulder.

"You told me yesterday you wanted to go for a run. Your exact words were 'please take me for a run, I promise I'll be good'."

"I'm used to going jogging every day!" Bob says, exasperated, throwing his hands up in frustration, nearly sloshing water everywhere. "Last time I checked, _less_ exercise never helped anyone's heart health."

"You literally had a heart attack while jogging less than a month ago," Bitty points outs.

"They're going to put me on a treadmill tomorrow during my stress test," Bob says, voice verging on a whine now. "Obviously I'm healthy enough for it."

"You're getting put on a treadmill underneath the supervision of a team of doctors and constant monitoring to make sure you're actually healthy enough for it," Jack says. "Give it one more day."

"My own son, turned against me," Bob mutters, betrayed. " _And_ you, Eric. No one loves me anymore."

"You make it hard sometimes, dear," Alicia says, stepping into the kitchen to pat her husband on the shoulder. "We're just trying to keep you alive."

Jack and Bitty exchange glances through the webcam and roll their eyes together, smiling.

 

* * *

 

It's August. Again.

"Well, Shitty mostly did a good job apartment sitting," Jack says. "But. . . there was one casualty."

"Oh no," Bitty says, one hand coming up to partially cover his smile. "The aloe?"

"The aloe," Jack confirms, sadly holding up the pot with the very dead plant in it.

"How do you kill aloe?" Bitty wonders. "It's a succulent. The less you do to it, the better."

"He drowned it. Lardo said he probably loved it to death. But it's all right, he got me another for my birthday."

"Speaking of which - wanna open your present?"

" _Yes_." Jack places the dead plant on the coffee table, and picks up the brown paper wrapped package. He traces his fingers over the return address, the apartment he and Bitty had shared for a month this time last year, and that Bitty now inhabits on his own.

Jack carefully pries the tape from the paper and slides the paper off. The present is a hard cover book, wrapped in leather. It's -

" _The History of Pizza_ ," Bitty says. "I, um, read it before we went to Italy? I really enjoyed it, and they included a lot about soldiers returning from World War II -"

"Bits," Jack says, cracking a huge grin. "I love it. Thank you. I might save it, though, to read on roadies."

"I'm starting to think you enjoy the chirping you get for being _such a fucking dweeb_."

 

* * *

 

It's September. Again.

"Camp feels different again this year," Jack says. "It's. . . better than last year, which is a good thing, but it's also different from two years ago, so." Jack shrugs.

"That could be a good thing too," Bitty says. "There's more than one way to skin a cat."

"Yeah." Jack sighs. "What's going on there?"

"Oh Lord, well. We're doing our final brainstorming this week. It's crazy to think about the last episode like that. _Last episode._ " Bitty shudders lightly.

"Are you guys traveling anywhere for the last one?"

"I don't think so," Bitty muses. "At least, I'm going to propose that we don't. We should do it here, in Paris. Where we started. I think that would be a good wrap up."

_Wrap up_. Jack's heart beats faster. Soon.

"Especially since we haven't gotten a renewal. There's a good chance this'll be the final one, ever," Bitty continues.

"That hasn't changed?"

"Mm, no. If they continue the series at all, it won't be in Europe. They might do a shorter one about American foods. But we'll see. If they do an American one, I'll sign on for it. Otherwise. . . I'm out."

"What would you like to do instead?"

Bitty hesitates.

"Honestly? I've thought about going back to school."

Jack pauses for a long time before replying.

"Bits, don't take this the wrong way. . . but your favorite parts of school were the parts that weren't school."

"I know, I know. . . But I'm really enjoying the research I'm doing for this? And I really enjoyed the research I did for my thesis at Samwell, too. If I could do more of that - I'd love to go back to school."

 

* * *

 

It's October. Again.

" _Jack Laurent Zimmerman_ ," Bitty says as soon as the connection goes through. "There is a picture of you on the Falconer's twitter."

"Oh. They posted it?" Jack says, feeling his cheeks heat.

"They did. It's three of my favorites things, you know. You with kids, kids on skates, and kids dressed up as pumpkins. _You with kids that are on skates dressed up as pumpkins_."

Jack's cheeks still feel warm, but he smiles helplessly in the face of a happy Eric Bittle.

"The rest of the skate went well, in case you were curious," he says with a loftiness that he doesn't mean.

"Speaking of skating," Bitty says. "Can we talk about that _absolute bullshit_ offside penalty yesterday? Unless I've completely forgotten how to play the game of hockey in the last year, that was just ridiculous -"

Jack grins. He's missed righteously-upset-about-hockey Bitty.

Well. He's really just missed Bitty, period.

 

* * *

 

It's November. Again.

Jack turns on his phone after stepping off the plane into the crisp Providence air to a text message from Bitty.

_Delta 182 - lands at 4:03 at BOS on the 24th_

Jack freezes at the bottom of the staircase, suddenly enough that Tater almost bowls him over from the back.

"Sorry, sorry," Jack mutters, while typing out a response.

_Is that your flight here?_

_YES. I'm so glad I got a direct flight. I bet they still lose my luggage_.

"That's your B smile, Zimmboni."

"He just bought his flight back." Jack can't keep the smile off his face and he thinks it's going to be hard to stop. "He'll be home for Christmas."

"Should have a party," Tater says. "Worth celebrating."

"It is, isn't it," Jack says, already planning.

 

* * *

 

 

It's December. Again.

It's December, and it's the 24th, and Jack is going to fucking die of anticipation. He's survived an overdose and college finals and a thesis and Stanley Cup playoffs and twenty nine years of anxiety and over a year apart from the love of his life and he's going to _die waiting for this fucking plane to land._

"Bro," Lardo says. "How many times have you changed today? That's like, the third shirt I've seen."

"I didn't even know you had that many nice shirts," Ransom says around a grin. "Well, that aren't meant to go under a suit."

Honestly, neither did Jack. He had been cleaning the apartment from top to bottom for the second time that week and found a few shirts stuck in the back of their closet. He feels a little bit like it's a first date, after so long apart.

After attempting to help Suzanne and Bob in the kitchen and getting kicked out for the third time, he calls it.

"I'm leaving for the airport," he calls, grabbing his keys off the counter and shrugging his jacket on at the door. On instinct, he grabs Bitty's too.

"Isn't it a little early?" Coach says.

"Good riddance," Bob says with a wink.

Jack pretends to not hear either of them and instead walks out the door. He has to take a few deep breaths once he gets in the car; the butterflies are getting almost too intense for him to stand and he can't stop bouncing his leg.

The drive to Boston is one he knows well, but he forgot how intense the sun would be. He's rooting around in the console for his spare sunglasses while at a red light when he finds the ring box.

It's not - it's not that he's _forgotten_ about it. He's just - very good at compartmentalizing when he needs to, and ever since he found out about Paris he had just been running, on some level, on autopilot - get Bitty a place in Paris, get them flights, text Bitty to remember his medication, call Bitty to tell him he missed him -

A car honks behind him, and he realizes that the light has been green and that he's still staring at the box, slack jawed. He starts, shoves the box in his jacket on instinct, and drives.

After he parks the car and then parks himself by baggage claim, Jack is hyper aware of the ring box sitting in his inner jacket pocket. He's thinking only of the imaginary burning weight of it against his chest and the arrival board signaling Bitty's plane has landed.

Landed. They're sharing the same continent, the same country, the same _city_. Jack's leg bouncing gets faster. A large group of people enters baggage claim and then -

And then Jack sees him.

They both freeze for a second, and then Jack sees Bitty mouth his name before they're striding towards each other, nearly jogging, dropping everything they're carrying before crashing together.

The impact of their reunion almost pushes them apart, makes Bitty stumble, except that Jack wraps his arms around Bitty tight, and Bitty balls his hands into fists in the back of Jack's windbreaker. They rock together, slow.

"Jack," Bitty says, over and over. "Jack."

"Bits," Jack says, head bowed into Bitty's hair. There are tears building in his eyes and his chest is hitching from relief, from happiness, from the intensity of being back in Bitty's presence.

"Jack," Bitty says. "Are you crying?"

Jack sniffs wetly and then huffs out a laugh.

"Yeah."

"Oh good. I thought it might just be me."

They sway, slowly, murmuring softly to each other, mostly nonsense words, their names, I love yous, I missed yous, until Jack hears a quiet "marry me".

Jack jerks his head back with surprise, still holding Bitty close, but surprised because - _he's not the one who said that_. He feels the ring box pressed into his chest by Bitty's body, though.

"Shit," Bitty says, eyes wide. "That wasn't quite - Lord, I'm a fool -"

And Jack - it all hits him at once, seeing the ring, Bitty leaving, Bitty being home, the ring box biting into his chest, Bitty - Bitty saying _marry me_ and it's just like that day in the jewelry shop - he doesn't think words.

He just drops to one knee.

Bitty's eyes get even wider.

"Jack -" he starts, but stops when Jack fishes around in his jacket for the ring box.

"Bitty. Bits. Eric. I -" He turns the box over in his hands. "I bought this right before you told me about Paris. The same day. And then - then I told myself I would wait. But Bitty, I've always - I knew I wanted to - the rest of my life -"

Jack's crying in earnest now, tears coming down his face, but he's overwhelmed, everything is _so much_ \- Bitty, the ring, the distance, the sound of bags falling with dull thuds onto the carousel. But there are tears on Bitty's face too and so Jack - he's never been more sure of anything than when he takes Bitty's hand, turns it gently so that his palm is facing up, and sets the whole box, closed, in Bitty's hand, just like he has with his life, his future, his heart.

And just like with all those things, Bitty gently closes his hand around it and pulls it close to his chest. He swallows a few times, breath shuddering, before opening the box and taking the ring out.

"Oh Jack," Bitty says, and then puts the ring on.

Jack surges up, catches Bitty around the waist, and kisses him. Bitty arches into him, twining his arms his neck, and they stay just like that. When they break away, Jack presses their foreheads together, both of them grinning like idiots.

But idiots in love. Idiots _getting married_.

"Excuse me?" someone says, and they turn to look at a woman, irritated, sniffing haughtily at them. "If you don't pick up your bags they're going to mark them as abandoned."

"Oh. Thanks."

Bitty retrieves his lonely bags from the baggage carousel while Jack collects their items from - well, everywhere. Bitty's carry on is a good ten feet away, the ring box bounced surprisingly far when Bitty dropped it to kiss Jack, and Jack somehow managed to throw Bitty's jacket a few feet to the side.

But Jack gets Bitty bundled up into the jacket and bundled into the car, luggage safely stored in the trunk, before Bitty asks, "what about you?".

"What about me what?" Jack says absentmindedly, catching Bitty's left hand across the car and pressing his lips to his ring finger.

"Your ring."

"Oh. I wasn't sure if you wanted us to match or - if you wanted to pick out mine. I have one like that reserved for me -"

"Let's go get it."

"Right now?" Jack says, glancing at Bitty quickly.

"Are they open?" Jack shrugs. "I mean, I know our place is literally filled with everyone we know and they're expecting us, blah blah blah, we're being awful hosts, but. If they're open. Let's go. I want to put a ring on your finger."

A quick google search shows that they are in fact open, although they close soon, early hours because of Christmas Eve, so they hurry to get out of Boston before rush hour really decided to get going.

They get there with ten minutes to spare. Jack explains the whole thing to a different stuffy old dude than the one that was originally there when he bought the rings, who seems oblivious to the manic excitement running through both Bitty and Jack.

"Is it weird if I've forgotten how tall you are?" Bitty asks, leaning into Jack's side, face turned up towards him. "Because I've kind of forgotten how tall you are. I'm not used to feeling this short all the time anymore."

Jack shakes head.

"Not weird," he says, surprised again by the fact that Bitty eyes are level with his chest.

But, finally, the jeweler returns with a receipt and another box, and Bitty wastes no time sliding it on to Jack's finger. Jack lets out a breath when it's nestled on his hand, surprised by how much he likes the feel of it, braided and burnished.

On their way out, he catches their reflection, tear stained, Bitty with dark, jetlag induced bags under his eyes, Jack practically vibrating, matching shit eating grins, exuberant.

They ignore all texts and calls from their friends and families asking where they are, and open the door forty five minutes later than they were supposed to be.

"Where the _fuck_ have you two been?" Shitty demands when they step in. "We were about to call in a posse."

"I don't think search posses are real things anymore," Bitty says as Jack says, "sorry, we had an errand to run".

"An errand," Bob says slowly.

"Uh, yeah," Jack says.

"What could you _possibly_ have needed? We've had everything ready to go for this for a week." Lardo says.

"Well, it wasn't for the party," Bitty says.

"Well then, what was it?" Suzanne demands.

Bitty and Jack both raise their left hands, and bedlam erupts.

"What the _fuck_ , Zimmermann, you could have _told_ me -" Shitty bellows into Jack's ear, trapping him in a headlock. Bitty has vanished under the combined bulk of Ransom and Holster, though Jack can hear his clear laugh cutting through the uproar.

Eventually, everyone calms down enough for them to tell the story, Jack's arm around Bitty's shoulders, fingers absentmindedly stroking the cap of his shoulder, Bitty's arm around his waist. Then Bitty excuses himself to the bedroom to go clean up. Jack follows him with his bags, and they manage to confine themselves to a few long, slow kisses before rejoining the crowd and making the rounds.

Bitty spends a long moment wrapped up in a hug from both of his parents, which starts him sniffling again.

"Gosh, I'm emotional," he says, wiping his eyes. "I blame the jetlag."

Bob wraps Bitty in a short hug before letting him step back.

"I'm sorry," Bitty starts. "I'm sorry I wasn't - that I couldn't -"

"Eric," Bob says. "It's fine. I'm fine. Really, I'm okay. Better than okay." He grabs Bitty's left hand and lifts it up to show the ring. "You're going to be my son in law! That's much more exciting than my cardiac episode."

Jack meets his mother's gaze so that she can see him mouth _cardiac episode_ and roll his eyes. She smirks and winks, before sweeping Bitty into a hug of her own.

 

* * *

 

 

The white Christmas lights on the dresser and the moonlight coming in from the window are the only light in the room, but Jack and Bitty can see plenty well enough to lay side by side under the covers, holding up their hands and admiring their rings.

"I can't believe you let this sit in your car for a year," Bitty says, again, for the hundredth time.

"Me either," Jack replies, again, for the hundredth time, because honestly, now that he's given it to Bitty and knows how perfect it is, how great it feels to have shared this with him, he can't believe he managed to wait either. He rolls over to kiss him in long, slow drags of their mouths, reveling that he can, reveling in Bitty's hands drifting over his ass, reveling in the naked skin pressed up against him.

"God, I missed your ass," Bitty sighs happily, squeezing. Jack grins crookedly, cocking an eyebrow.

"Wanna fuck it?"

" _Fuck_ yes. Except there's no way I'm staying awake for round two." Bitty yawns, as if the very idea of staying awake for more sex is exhausting.

"I can't believe you're still awake. It's five in the morning in Paris. You've got to be wiped."

Bitty smiles, slow and sultry and sleepy.

"I had a good incentive to stay awake."

Jack barks out a laugh and lays fully on top of Bitty, prompting him to squirm and laugh and say that Jack is crushing him, while Jack wiggles himself even closer.

Eventually they'll fall asleep. Jack has Bitty back in their bed, with a ring on his finger, and. . .

Life's great, honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bob reminds me of my Grandpa Giz, who had a heart attack and attempted to walk out of the hospital twenty minutes after having a stent placed. Good times. 
> 
> I have a weirdly deep knowledge about the history of pizza.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm @marchingatmidnight on tumblr.](http://marchingatmidnight.tumblr.com/)


End file.
